So It Goes
by soni13
Summary: This isn't how they planned it. After the revolution, their lives were supposed to be different, somehow. But for Mustang and Hawkeye, things never turn out as expected, and death is no exception.
1. Cancer

**La la la**

**Yeah. I know. I haven't published anything new since...August. My bad. Tenth grade was overwhelming. I'll try to be better next year. Although I probably won't succeed. Ah well.**

**Anyway, I wrote this awhile ago. It basically rose out of me being oppositional, which I won't explain in case some crazy fool actually reads this note and spoils the story. ****Other than that, I don't have much to say about this. If you like, you like it. If you don't, you don't. Just tell me what I can do to become a better writer.**

**The song is "Cancer" by My Chemical Romance. The title of this story is actually from _Slaughterhouse-Five_ by Kurt Vonnegut, which I'm in the middle of now. It's a line they say basically whenever something unpleasant happens.**

**Disclaimer: I. Do. Not. Own. I disclaim everything that I did not originally write!**

* * *

**_And I just hope you know_**

**_That if you say_**

_"**Goodbye" today,**_

**_I'd ask you to be true._**

_'**Cause the hardest part of this**_

**_Is leaving you._**

_'**Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you.**_

* * *

"Hey."

You look up with a start. You haven't been dozing, exactly, just lost in thought. "I thought you were asleep."

I smirk and stretch, trying to get the stiffness out of my back. "I get enough of that when you're not here; no need to waste your visit." You smile. You reach for my hand and turn it over in yours, doing your best to ignore the IV that snakes between us. "I wish I could come more often."

"Don't beat yourself up, Riza," I tell you sternly. "Life doesn't stop just because I'm sick."

You look like you want to argue, but I just squeeze your hand and give you a smile. "Why don't you get some sleep? God—if he exists—knows that I'll be here when you wake up." I reach up to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, but stop myself. Too many displays of affection will only make this harder for the both of us.

Finally, you nod. There's a recliner in the corner, and you go to it. Within a few minutes, you're fast asleep, and I'm left alone with my thoughts again.

I hate seeing you like this: worried and tired. You should be living your life, not sitting in this goddamn hospital, losing sleep over me. I wish that you could be out there, enjoying the new regiment. Ever since we took down Father and the homunculi, Oliver Armstrong has been trying to set up a new, peaceful democracy. You and I would be helping her, if I wasn't stuck here, being useless, and you weren't stuck here, worrying about me in all my useless glory.

You were the one to call my foster mother and sisters and break the news to them. It just goes to show what a coward I am that I allowed you to take on that dreadful task. They arrived within a few days, bearing old scrapbooks and comfort food. Madame Christmas even snuck me in some of her best beer, but unfortunately, the nurses confiscated it before I could finish the bottle. The fact that she brought me alcohol goes to show how concerned she is, but she would never admit it. In that aspect, the two of you are more alike than you could imagine.

I know I'm going to die. The doctors explained to me a week ago that they didn't know what else to do. I sat there for awhile, unsure of what to do. And then, I asked them not to tell my family. I can accept this, and I can handle this. But I can't place this on your shoulders. If you all gave up hope, I couldn't deal with it. You are all that keeps me going. I can act strong; I can pretend I believe it will all turn out fine, just as long as you aren't acting.

The first treatment the doctors tried made me vomit, the second almost put me in a coma, and after the third, all my hair fell out. This latest treatment has me dizzy and weak, but I am still conscious, and that's all that matters. I'm holding on to every moment with you and the rest of my family.

"Hey chief."

Breda and Falman come in, pushing Havoc in his wheelchair. The first thing I notice is the number of stripes on their chests. Each of us was promoted a few ranks after the overturn of the government; they all would be at least brigadier generals if, technically, we hadn't been committing treason. Still, the new ranks are an improvement. Now they have their own subordinates to take care of.

Havoc's in charge of his family's shop, and doing a damn fine job, from what I hear. He still has time to visit frequently, so really, not too much has changed. They're still the same idiots that I would die for.

I nod my head in your direction, signaling them to keep it down. "Where's Fuery?"

The sudden commotion in the hall explains his absence before they can. "Godammit, I don't _need_help, Fuery. I can get it _on my own._"

Edward Elric comes barging in, pushing Alphonse, with Fuery trailing behind. Alphonse smiles at me from his wheelchair. After they retrieved his body from the Gate, his muscles were so weak from disuse that he was like a newborn, barely able to hold up his head. The intense physical therapy with Izumi Curtis had helped, but he still couldn't walk for long periods by himself. Edward still has his automail arm and leg, but he doesn't care, because Al is restored. I can tell that the automail bothers Alphonse, but he tried not to let it show.

"Hi Colonel. Oh wait, it's General now, isn't it? Sorry, sir." Alphonse says with a grin. It's great to be able to see his expression.

"Hello boys. Edward, still haven't grown much, have you?"

"WHO'RE YOU CALLING SO SMALL HE COULD BLOW AWAY IN THE WIND?!!"

All of the men shush him, but it's too late; you sit up with a start. You look around at all of our friends and smile politely. Your eyes travel over everyone, but they unerringly return to me, like a compass to true north. This secretly pleases me and breaks my heart, all at the same time.

I offer you a small grin, reassuring that I'm all right, nothing changed while you slept. This is the language of two people who love each other: words become so unnecessary when the smallest movements speak volumes, when you can read someone's mind by looking at their eyes.

Everyone begins speaking at once, trying to fill the silence they find awkward. Breda mentions what my new office will look like, because they all still believe I'm going back. Al informs us that Winry and Pinako are doing well. Havoc talks about running the shop, and unsuccessfully trying to kick his smoking habit. After awhile, I realize that they aren't really talking to me, more at me. So I nod and throw in a vaguely positive comment here and there, and let my mind wander. I think you realize what I'm doing, but you don't say anything.

"Well, Mr. Mustang, it's good to see that so many people care about you, but didn't we tell you last time that each patient is only allowed to have five guests at a time?" Everyone looks up at the orderly, who is glaring at the boisterous military men.

Havoc's eyebrows shoot up, and I can't help but roll my eyes. Even though he's been hailed as a hero of the revolution, he still can't get a date.

"Yes ma'am. Beg your pardon." Havoc looks up at his companions. "C'mon, men, let's get on out of here. See ya later, chief, Hawkeye."

Ed and Breda roll Al and Havoc out, and Falman and Fuery follow suit. You and I are alone again, at least, for a little while.

It sure is ironic, isn't it? That I would survive Ishbal, and the revolution, and barely survive the murder trials, only to wind up dying in a hospital. But really, I always knew that what was inside of me would kill me in the end. I just wish that we had more time. You and I never married; we never had the life that we had tried to build. You threw your life away on me, and I could never give you what you deserve: a happy normalcy, without the constant fear that has defined us for so long. I just hope that you can find your happiness once I'm gone.

"Riza…you know I love you, right?"

Your head jerks up at my question, surprise racing through your eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Just…you know that I would give anything for you, that you are everything to me."

Are those tears? In the eyes of my sturdy Lieutenant? Shit, I didn't mean to make you cry…

"Roy Mustang, you listen to me now, and you listen well. You are not leaving me. Don't you dare offer me your goodbyes, because I will not accept them. We are going to get through this; you are going to get better. Everyone who gives a damn about you is waiting out there; you are not going to disappoint them by throwing away all we've worked for over some stupid disease."

Your words are broken now, like you're having trouble pushing them through your throat. Those damn tears are still threatening to fall, but I know you: If you have to cry, you'll do your best to save it until you're alone.

Suddenly I want to hold you again, to lose myself in the real dream of knowing that you belong to me. You need to stop being so brave.

"Riza…" I start, but you interrupt me.

"Do you understand me, Roy Mustang? You. Are not. Going. To die."

"Oh Riza." A renegade tear has dared to trespass on your cheek, and I catch the insurgent with my thumb. Then my fingers fan out to cup your face, and suddenly you are there, in my arms, clinging on to me for dear life. Poor Riza. As strange as it may sound, I always wanted you to die first. The last thing I wanted was to cause you more pain, and by leaving you, I am doing just that. If I was the one left behind, maybe I would finally give in to the nagging in the back of my head and end it all, just so I could be with you. But you are stronger than I am. You will suffer, and you will carry on no matter how much you hurt, because you are brave enough to live for our friends. Goddammit, your life would be so much easier if you weren't such a fool to fall for me.

It's not really death I'm afraid of. I am not worried about the pain, or about redemption or condemnation. I don't care about what's on the other side of this life. None of it matters, because you will not be there.

So, until the day the breath leaves my body, I will be counting every blessed second with you.

Until the day I die, I will love you.


	2. After

**Here goes chapter two...**

**Riza's POV**

**Disclaimer: I do not own FMA or "What Sarah Said" by Death Cab for Cutie**

* * *

**_'Cause there's no comfort in the waiting room,_**

**_Just nervous pacers bracing for bad news._**

**_And then the nurse comes round and everyone will lift their heads,_**

**_But I'm thinking of what Sarah said:_**

**_That "Love is watching someone die."_**

* * *

After.

I've spent my whole life waiting for After. _After_ my father is done in his study will he cook me dinner. _After _he finishes with the tattoo on my back, he'll love me. _After_ I settle my father's debts, I'll be able to pretend like none of it mattered. _After_ this war is finally over I can stop killing people. _After_ I help you rise to the top, the nightmares will end. _After_ this is all over I will be happy.

But for the first time in my life, I am now dreading After. Because this time, the After will never measure up to the Before.

* * *

I hate this waiting room. Everything's too white, white, white: the walls, the floor, the faces. White is blank, the absence of color. White is the absence of life. White is empty.

As rude as it may sound, I wish this room was devoid of people as it is of color. Everyone's watching me, waiting for me to crack so they can jump in and offer comfort, because they don't know what else to do. I feel like they're just waiting for me to reveal my weakness, which I won't. I can't. I can't allow one crack, one slip, because then the whole dam might break, and that's not who I am. I am the First Lieutenant, the calm, cool, and collected. I am the one who keeps a level head as the world goes to pieces around me. If I let this fear get to me, then how could I expect you to hold out?

It feels strange to call you by your first name, but since the coup was successful, it was safe to take our relationship public. That's not to say the possibility of my being used against you has completely evaporated; you are still so vital to this country, after all, and that position comes with enemies. But honestly, how could these humans scare us, after the monsters we'd already fought and defeated?

Humans were something we could handle. But that's a part of why we're here, isn't it? Because this, this _disease_, isn't something we can fight. There's no monster waiting underground, just under your skin. I can't pull the trigger and shoot the problem away; you can't burn it to a crisp with a snap of your fingers.

The one thing we cannot fight is what's going to tear us apart.

Isn't it funny how people would criticize us for being too unaffectionate, too unfeeling, when the exact opposite was true? I heard secretaries and officers on break murmuring about our relationship, after we went public, that is, before they realized I was there. Everyone seemed to believe that it wouldn't last, that you were too flighty and I too impartial for there to be any love in our relationship. But their comments never affected me, because after all, how could they ever hope to understand? These people, whether they were soldiers or not, had never been through the pure hell that you and I had survived. They couldn't look into someone's eyes, the eyes of a murder, and see the love that was shielded from the rest of the world.

We didn't need to constantly show our love, because we learned that lesson long ago: that the more openly you share your heart, the more likely it is to be ripped from you.

I'm staring at the wall when Feury comes up to me. "Um, Hawkeye?"

The level of noise after hours of silence makes me jump, which in turn makes him jump. I snap to attention and look up at him as he nervously adjusts his glasses, and for a moment I feel sorry for him. This isn't a situation any of us know how to handle, and he's just doing his best. "Yes, Feury?" I say softly. "What is it?"

"There's a phone call for you. The Elric brothers. And Miss Rockbell."

I offer him a slight smile, the best I can manage, and get up. The pay phone is in the hall, giving one a bit of privacy. Falman's holding the phone for me, and quickly hands it over. I place the receiver to my ear. "Yes?"

"Lieutenant? Oops, sorry, that's not your title anymore, is it? General?"

I feel a little weight lifting off my shoulders; Alphonse has that effect on people. "Yes Al."

"Um, we were just wondering how the—how Roy was doing." Here I have to pause before I answer. Despite what they've been through, and despite what they may think, the Elrics and Winry were still young. I don't want to place the same burden that is wearing me down on their shoulders; I don't want to give them more to worry about. So forgive me, but I have to soften the truth. "I think he's doing a little better. The doctor's have been in with him for awhile, so we're just waiting for them to be done so we can see him."

"Well, that's good. We're all really worried, y'know…even Brother has been asking me to call you. We all just wanted to tell you that, um, we hope everything turns out all right." I could hear Al's nervous smile through the phone as he tried to offer me some comfort. "Thank you."I said. "Where are Edward and Winry?"

"Right here. They haven't left me alone since I got my body back."

Well, I have to agree with them. Although Al won't admit it, his newly returned body is too weak from disuse to do much, and if it were you, I would never leave your side. But then again, you would've shooed me away, just like you do so frequently now. I know that the nonchalant expression that sneaks across your face every time you send me away is just a mask, because you don't want me to worry. Do you really think that even if you're out of my sight, you're ever out of my mind?

"Well, say hello to them for me. I really have to get going though, Al. It was nice of you to call."

"No problem. Send our best to the--the Brigadier General."

"I'll be sure to do that. Goodbye."

I slip the phone back in its holder and rest my forehead against the wall for a moment. I don't want to go back in there; I don't want to face everyone again and try to act concerned, but not fearful. I want to run out of this hospital; I want to run and scream and claw at my skin; I want to hurt, so that you don't have to. I want to go to the office and see you there, with a full head of hair. I want to yell at you for sleeping instead of doing your paperwork. I want you to kiss me and make me forget why I was angry in the first place.

But because I can't do any of this, I go back. I go back to my seat and wait for another hour. I accept the cup of water Havoc hands to me, and I try to make small talk, even though he knows me well enough to see right through me.

And when the doctor comes toward us, I grip Havoc's arm without realizing I'm doing it. I search the doctor's eyes, looking for some hope, some light.

And when I can find nothing but regret, that is when I break.


	3. And When It's All Over

**Here's the last chapter.**

**I just want to thank all the people who have favorited this story. It sure is great to get those email alerts :)**

**This is from Havoc's POV.**

**Disclaimer: Once again, I do not own FMA or "Hear You Me" by Jimmy Eat World**

* * *

**_May angels lead you in;_**

**_Hear you me, my friend._**

**_On sleepless roads the sleepless go;_**

**_May angels lead you in._**

* * *

When the doctor comes, Riza grabs my arm and squeezes. People think she's this incredible emotionless fighter, never fear, never fail, but that's far from the truth. She has her feelings, just like the rest of us—she keeps them as well hidden as possible. However, if you know her as well as I do, you can tell. And right now, her defenses are about as low as I've ever seen them.

The doctor comes closer, and stops directly in front of us. He lifts his eyes to meet hers. Suddenly, I hear this, this _noise_ cut through the air; something completely animal and instinctive, completely raw. The grip on my arm loosens, and Riza is there on the ground, crumpled and deflated. Her hair falls, covering her face like a curtain.

No one speaks; are there really any words for a moment like this?

There's something sick about having a funeral on a beautiful day like today. It's gaudy, like the eternal sun's come out to mock us for our short lives that end so easily.

We gather outside the cemetery, the same one where we buried Hughes. The Elrics and Winry are here; Winry's crying, and Ed has his arm around her. All of our allies showed up: Rebecca, General Gruman, the Armstrongs, Maria Ross and Denny Brosch, Izumi and Sig Curtis, Gracia and Elaysia. And of course, all of Mustang's men. Even though he's gone, we will always be his men.

Two black cars pull up. Madame Mustang and Roy's foster sisters get out; each of the girls already has mascara stains down her cheeks. Madame Mustang turns back to the car and gently speaks to the dark interior. And then, Riza steps out. She's wearing a black skirt and a buttoned up shirt. For a second I wonder why she isn't wearing the military's dress uniform, but then I remember. They were at a formal meeting when Roy's first symptom manifested itself: coughing up blood. Riza held him while they waited for the medics.

She nods at the gathered crowd, and then we all turn to the second black car. Feury, Falman, Breda, Denny, and Maria walk to the rear; Edward passes Winry off to Alphonse and follows suit. They are the pallbearers, a task I could not complete because of this damn chair. Instead, I consider it my unofficial duty to stay by Riza's side through this, to make sure she has someone to lean on.

The six friends carry the coffin into the cemetery, and this motley crew of old soldiers and housewives follows. They walk slowly, bearing the weight of a fallen leader, so it's easy enough for me to keep up.

We reach the empty grave, and the pallbearers gently place the coffin—not the Colonel, no, I'm not thinking that—down next to it. We stand and listen to the priest give a eulogy for an atheist. I look around, not focusing on what's really happening, because it's so damn unreal. Maes' grave is within spitting distance; that's good, they would both like that. Winry isn't the only one crying anymore—a few of the supposedly stoic military men are breaking down—but Riza's face is still dry. In fact, she seems completely normal, except for her white-knuckled, tightly clasped hands.

I only notice that the priest is finished when the silence begins to swell, engulfing us all in its invisible wave, dragging us down until we think we will drown.

Breda and Falman step forward. They grab the ends of the flag that covers the coffin like a child's blanket. They fold it in half, in half again, then up and up, making it into a neat little triangle. This is a procedure that every soldier learns early but dreads carrying out.

My comrades finish folding the flag, and Breda lets Falman tuck the last end into itself and hands the finished product to Riza. She takes it carefully, and holds it close to her heart, as if that piece of cloth could possibly absorb all of her pain.

We turn and start making our way back to the real world, leaving the coffin resting next to the open grave. Others will come and bury it later, a new practice being carried out throughout the country. Nobody likes to watch that part.

We gather at Gracia's house for the wake, because Madame Mustang is still without an Amestris residence, thanks to Roy's explosion. Was it really that long ago that he was trying to protect his family from being hunted down? It still feels like yesterday.

Everyone else is talking silently as I munch on a miniature sandwich and take a swig of my beer. Then I notice Elaysia watching me from beside the table. "Hey kiddo." I say. "How're you doing?"

When I was first out of commission, I came over here a lot. It was weird, not being surrounded by my noisy coworkers every day, and Gracia graciously offered to let me babysit while she ran errands and went to work. Elaysia and I became "buddies" during that period, so she has no hesitation before climbing onto my lap. She rests her head on my chest. "I didn't cry this time." she mutters.

Uncertain of her meaning, I pause before asking, "What do you mean, honey?"

She twists to look up at me with those sad innocent eyes. "Uncle Roy's with Daddy now, right? So we should be happy, right? 'Cause Uncle Roy missed Daddy a whole bunch, like me and Mama did. And now they'll be happy up in Heaven together. Right?"

It's breaking my heart that a four-year-old has had enough experience with death to come up with this conclusion. "Yeah, Uncle Roy's in Heaven now."

She presses her little face against my chest. "I'm still gonna miss him."

I rub her shoulder, kiss the top of her head, but there really isn't anything I can do to comfort this kind of pain. "You're not the only one, kiddo. You're not the only one."

Only when she hurries past me do I realize that Riza was listening to us. Riza is out the back door before I can even turn. I quickly send a speaking look to Gracia, who comes over and lifts her daughter off my lap. Wheeling myself to the door, it takes me a minute to see Riza's silhouette over by the ancient oak tree. Luckily the Hugheses don't have a back porch, otherwise I couldn't get myself out of the house and over to her without major assistance. "Riza?"

At first, I don't think she hears me, but then she asks me, "What's next, Jean?"

"What do you—"

"I've spent almost all my life following Roy. Ever since we met, he was the one with the big plans, whether it was to sneak out in the middle of the night to see a meteor shower or to create an uprising. I always knew where I was going, because I was just following his footsteps.

So what do I do now? He's gone where I can't follow…"

Her voice cracks, and I see through the mask that she always holds in place. "I'm lost, Jean, and I don't know what to do."

I roll up a little and see her wringing her hands. When I look closer, I see that she's twisting the ring he gave her—her engagement ring, that symbol of all unfulfilled promises—around and around. There are tear tracks down her cheeks.

"We keep going. No one knew his vision better than you, Riza, and you need to be the conscience of the new government, to remind them of what their purpose is."

She looks down at me, and even though I'm not used to this vision, I can still see the warrior behind the tears. She's still the same woman with whom I've fought beside, I've killed and laughed and lived beside. And although he's gone, we will always be the Colonel's men.

"We just keep living."

And for a moment, the realization of what that means overwhelms me. I can see the future, as I slowly lose more and more friends. This group that I've depended on for so long is just as impermanent as anything else on this planet. We're all going to disappear someday; there will be a day in the none-too-distant future when no one I know, no one I care about, will be alive. We're transitory creatures, and our lives are so short in comparison to the grand plan.

But that's why what we did was so important. We changed the country for future generations; we made the world a different--hopefully better--place. Our names, our faces, who we were and what we stood for may not be remembered, but what we did will always stand.

I cannot bring myself to regret the path that has led us here, even though it has cost us so much. In the end, it was worth it. It was what we chose, and we cannot go back. Life just keeps rolling on, and we can only hope the choices we make will lead us to the right places. We do what we can, and keep striving for the best. That's all we can do.

So it goes.


End file.
